


Cadence

by MultiocularO



Series: Jon Sims Except He's An Avatar Of Literally Anything But Beholding [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Power Swap, Angst, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Power Swap, Sacrifice, Slaughter!Jon, might be jongerry but don't @me, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiocularO/pseuds/MultiocularO
Summary: “Alright. Statement of…?”“No.”“Ah. Given, uh. Um.” Martin checks his phone. “Given January 18th, 2018. S-Statement taken by Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant. Statement begi-”“She fed me to the slaughter,” the man interrupts, scarred face twisting strangely. It’s not a smile, but it’s not… not a smile.“Who?” Martin asks, heart in his throat.“Your precious archivist, Gertrude Robinson."
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims
Series: Jon Sims Except He's An Avatar Of Literally Anything But Beholding [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611985
Comments: 14
Kudos: 268





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oops

There is a man, on the other end of the bar, staring at Martin. His face is covered in scars, the left side crinkled with burns and his throat rippling with sharp, pale lines.

His hair is long, dark reddish brown with gray streaks. His eyes are a light color, blue or grey. He’s thin and drawn, age impossible to tell. He’s wearing all black, leather jacket catching the bar lights strangely. 

Martin swallows nervously, stands up, and walks towards him. The man watches his slow progression, right up until Martin slides into the chair. He turns his pale eyes towards his drink. 

“Hullo,” Martin says. The man swirls his glass. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough. It catches on the shape of his throat, warps before it even reaches his lips. 

“You’re an assistant. At the Institute.” 

Ah. “Yes,” Martin says. The bartender places a drink down in front of him. Martin did not order this drink, and he’s almost certain the man didn’t either. 

“I’d tell you to quit, but…” the man looks at him, eyes sharp and discerning. “I think it’s already too late for you.” 

“What-” Martin starts, but the man cuts him off. 

“I’d like to make a statement, Assistant.” 

Irritation swells in Martin’s breastbone. 

“Well. You can always stop by the Institute. We have a process, you know-” 

“I know. More so than you. But I won’t be able to control myself if I step foot in that building again.” 

Martin stares at him, silently. He weighs his options, and pulls his bag towards him. 

As anticipated, there’s a tape recorder already running inside. He sets it on the counter of the bar, between them. 

“Alright. Statement of…?”

“No.”

“Ah. Given, uh. Um.” Martin checks his phone. “Given January 18th, 2018. S-Statement taken by Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant. Statement begi-”

“She fed me to the slaughter,” the man interrupts, scarred face twisting strangely. It’s not a smile, but it’s not…  _ not  _ a smile.

“Who?” Martin asks, heart in his throat. 

“Your  _ precious  _ archivist, Gertrude Robinson,” he growls, his damaged throat warping the words. Martin resists the urge to cringe or worse, argue. He’d suspected, all along, what Gertrude was doing, but the  _ proof  _ was… horrible. 

“Michael Shelley and Jonathan Sims and Jared Keay,” the man growls, “and more, and more, and more. We were devoted to her, our dear Gertrude, and she fed us, one by one, to the entities.” 

“Michael? You mean-”

“The Distortion, yes. Michael, yes. Once, maybe. He is Michael, is the Distortion, and I am the Slaughter. It clawed and scraped and hollowed me out until all that remained was…  _ this. _ ” 

“I…” the man rasps, thinking. “It was… maybe five years ago. I was hired straight out of college. There were two older assistants, at the time, though I don’t remember their names. They didn’t last long. I didn’t question it, then, but now I can’t help but wonder…” 

Martin, not for the first time, wishes he had the Archivist’s power to compel statements out of people.

“We… we went north. I think it was north. It didn’t matter much. We went north. We took...a plane, I think. Not a… not a big one. An acquaintance of hers flew us. I’d wondered, at the time, where we’re going or, or why she chose  _ me  _ over Gerry or Michael. I’d been an assistant the longest, yes, but both of the others were more practical choices for fieldwork.

I.... I don’t remember. What happened when we landed. Or where we landed. I don’t remember much of anything, really. I remember… the building. A hospital, I think. She led me… to a cellar, and when I entered, she locked the door behind me. I couldn’t get out. It was dark, and cramped. Quiet. Nothing, and no one, but me there.

I’m not sure what she’d hoped to achieve, trapping me with so many aspects of so many entities. There wasn’t a ritual to disrupt. Maybe she wanted to know which would win. Maybe she wanted to monitor how avatars are made. I don’t know. 

I don’t know. 

I remember, in that cellar, the sound of men dying. The smell of them. The way they begged their gods for mercy, begged for healing or begged for death. At times, I begged, too. For mercy. For death. I wish I could say I wanted both in equal measures, but while I am many things, a liar is not one of them.

I remember… music. A drum cadence. A whistle. Something.. heavy. Sad, at times, but brilliant and ferocious at others. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. 

Still is. 

I don’t know how long I stayed there, how long it took for me to leave. I don’t remember…  _ leaving.  _ I was told, after, that I’d been rescued. I woke in a hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses, strangers, all of them. They wanted to help me, and the only thing I could think about was how…  _ angry  _ I was. At Gertrude, for trapping me there. At Michael and Jared, for… I don’t know. Not taking my place, perhaps. I wanted to hurt them. The doctors, my coworkers. Everyone. Everything. It took a long, long time before I could resist the call of the drum cadence.”

He laughs, a low, dreadful noise.

“I know now that Michael, at least, suffered a fate as bad as mine. I’m sure you’ve met him. Gerry… you’ve met him, too. He’s… not done yet, I don’t think. Gertrude isn’t the one controlling him. You know, had she not been… what she was, I would have pegged her for the Web.”

The man downs the rest of his glass and focuses on Martin, turning his face towards him. 

“Be careful, Martin Blackwood. Things are never what they seem. Advice is often contradictory, and not to be taken at surface value. Gertrude Robinson may be gone, but she is not the only one who had a vested interest in such matters.”

The man slips off the bar stool, tosses some money on the counter, and slings a previously unseen bag over his shoulder. With a wry smile, he leans towards the tape recorder. 

“Statement Ends.” 

The tape recorder clicks off.


	2. Avant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard gives him a wry smile. “Yeah. Knew. I was one of Gertrude’s assistants, remember? Me, Michael Shelley, and Jonathan Sims.” He reaches over and turns around a photo frame on his desk, facing it towards Martin. 
> 
> It’s a photo of three people. Gerard, looking younger, less scarred, on the left. A tall man with curly blond hair Martin doesn’t exactly not recognize stands in the middle, arms wrapped around the other two and on the right… the man from the statement. His face is smooth, unscarred, and his hair is short. All three are smiling at the camera, looking relaxed and happy.

“Oh, wow,” Gerard says, leaning back in his chair. “I’d always wondered what happened to him, but… Christ.” 

“What?” Martins says, blinking in surprise. “You know him?” 

Gerard gives him a wry smile. “Yeah. Knew. I was one of Gertrude’s assistants, remember? Me, Michael Shelley, and Jonathan Sims.” He reaches over and turns around a photo frame on his desk, facing it towards Martin. 

It’s a photo of three people. Gerard, looking younger, less scarred, on the left. A tall man with curly blond hair Martin doesn’t exactly  _ not  _ recognize stands in the middle, arms wrapped around the other two and on the right… the man from the statement. His face is smooth, unscarred, and his hair is short. All three are smiling at the camera, looking relaxed and happy.

“Oh,” Martin says softly. There’s something unbelievably sad about the photo, something nostalgic and melancholic. Martin feels a sense of longing for a time he never witnessed. 

“Yeah. He, uh. He was the first to go. Jon was the youngest of us three, but he’d been an assistant the longest. Elias had had his eye on Jon for a while. Back then, we didn’t know what he was. Well, Gertrude might have. And my mother.”

“Your mother?” Martin interrupts. He’s never heard Gerard talk about his past.

“...Mary Keay. I’m sure you’ve read about her, in the statements. I, uh. Left to live with my dad, as soon as I could. Changed my last name a couple years back. Anyway,” he coughs, picking up the photo and looking at it. “I think, even back then, Elias was planning on killing Gertrude. Jon was next in line to be The Archivist, and Gertrude must have known that. That’s probably why she… got rid of him.”

Martin swallowed heavily, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

“And Michael?”

“...she wanted to disrupt a ritual. For me, I think she expected the brain cancer to take me out before I became a problem. We all did.” 

Gerard laughs, suddenly. “We went to see him. Gertrude and I, that is. He’d been missing for several months, you see, and nobody knew anything. Or at least, we thought no one knew anything.” He leaned forward, staring directly into Martin’s eyes.

“He tried to slit Gertrude’s throat with a scalpel. I never saw him again, after that. Good riddance, bad rubbish and all, I suppose. ‘Course, I didn’t know what had happened to him. Sometimes, I wish he’d succeeded.”

Gerard sighs, leaning back. Martin relaxes. There’s something about having Gerard’s undivided attention that makes his spine tingle and his skin prickle. 

“Well. I suppose we should add it to the Archive. I’ll get it filed away. Thank you, Martin.” 

Martin nods, sliding the tape recorder across the desk and standing. 

Gerard looks like he could use some tea, right about now.

**Author's Note:**

> um in case some of this wasn't clear (or i couldn't figure out how to work it in)  
> -Gerard Delano, formerly known as Gerard "Gerry" Keay, is the current Archivist. He changed his name and goes by Gerry  
> -Jon says his name Jared so Martin's probably not going to figure it out for a while  
> -Jon was one of Gertrude's assistants  
> -Jon has some fun, different scars because he's turned into a violent asshole instead of a regular asshole. The burn is from Jude. I might draw some of them later  
> -Fun trivia but he def prefers axes as his weapon of choice  
> -The statement is supposed to be slightly incoherent and kind of useless because Martin isn't the archivist  
> -Martin is further along in figuring things out because he doesn't spend season one in denial like SOMEONE i could mention (jon i love you but. please.)  
> -My song for this fic is The Businessman by the Taxpayers
> 
> tumblr is @hermit-scribe-vibe, hmu


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